Angela Hibbs

THERE IS A ROOM RESERVED FOR THE HOPELESS

The bright yellow paint is chipping.
The inmates do not share the time of day
or even the most casual of glances.
We've less to speak of
than you can imagine.

The clock is the book most often referred to.
The Reader's Digest books
may well be rigged.  We swallow pills
and eight cups of water
and three square meals
from clock-shaped plates
with hour and minute hands for fork and knife and clatter
a little too loudly.

We observe the trolley
enter at eight, twelve and five.

Turns are taken
at bemoaning the chill
the food caught on the journey
from a kitchen we've never seen.

Within the reserved room
is the room to which our smoking
is reserved.  Weeping is welcome everywhere.

I was told he was working on a book called E=9,
the hopelessness of its completion
was grounds for his admission.
My ingrateful dozing through breakfast
makes them hope
I'll vacate soon.

-- supplementary material for my review of Angela Hibbs' Wanton in The Rover.

Shannon Stewart/Phil Hall

A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME

I. Cow

Under a Holstein coat
teats drip
perpetual maternity.
In other lands
I am worshipped,
painted, wrapped in silk.
Not stupid at all,
but Bovine –
Mother of Milk.

II. Slut

Because I fuck
and fuck well.
Because one
is never enough.
Because I prefer not
to wear undergarments
or keep the prim
protocols of
ladyhood. Yeah,
I’m a slut. No
if, and or –
Nice butt!

III. Cunt

This grunt
of a word
you cast
at the end
of your line.
Look what
comes up
from the sea;
purple, wet
and manifold.
Get down
on your knees
and kiss it
better.

IV. Bitch

If she’s strong,
smart, thin,
vocal, rich –
she turns canine,
all paws and itch.
Not so long ago,
burned as a witch.

V. Whore

You tell me
what isn’t for sale.
I’m one letter
away from whole.
Take that R and rent
yourself a rope.
See what’s happy
when life’s
lost hope.

-- Shannon Stewart, Penny Dreadful




Me & Morisseau were both abused as kids
both ran by rotgut then sang by hand
of a Canada that deplorably survives
high in the clawed glistening air

our giant muskrat soul kept falling apart
into butchered townships aflame with primal colour
& the spit of the grease was the shared song
of the brush & the pen slicing through forgiveness

-- Phil Hall, from White Porcupine


Norval Morisseau is one of Canada's great aboriginal artists... for more on his art, here's a link.

NB, this is supplementary material for a review of Shannon Stewart's Penny Dreadful and Phil Hall's White Porcupine, soon to be posted in The Rover. My compliments to Shannon Stewart and Signal Editions (imprint of Véhicule Press), and Phil Hall and Book Thug.

Shannon Stewart

PICKTON PIG FARM
953 Dominion Avenue

He had dirty hands, sat
for hours, saying nothing.
Patrolled his yard with
a boar trained to attack.
Trailers filled with purses,
i.d.’s, girlie bric-a-brac.
Drove a bus with tinted
windows, asked the girls
how they wanted to be
paid. Repeatedly stabbed
a prostitute but charges
were, inexplicably,
stayed. Some knew what he
was up to, but didn’t speak.
Those women were poor,
life wasn’t fair. He was
a decent neighbour,
a quiet man,
impossible,
a millionaire.




NB, this is supplementary material for a review of Shannon Stewart's Penny Dreadful and Phil Hall's White Porcupine, soon to be posted in The Rover. Compliments to Shannon Stewart and Signal Editions (imprint of Véhicule Press).

Plug for The Rover

Edited by Montreal writers Marianne Ackerman and Elise Moser, The Rover's raison d'etre is to provide a new online forum for high quality arts and book reviews.

With the steady decline in review space in newspapers and magazines, coupled with increased creation in all areas of the arts, the need for an outlet like this has become all the more pressing. As Ackerman put it to the audience at last Thursday's official launch at Montreal's Sala Rosa, you know the old conundrum of the tree falling in the forest. Well, a book given no critical review suffers a similar fate.

A look at the roster reveals some pretty significant names: reviewers include Mark Abley, Heather O'Neill, Carolyn Marie Souaid, Maxianne Berger, Tess Fragoulis, David Homel, Roger Sauls and, well, yours truly. (My two book reviews can be found here.)

At this point, the writers are unpaid. Hopefully, with advertising and more fundraisers like last Thursday night's at Montreal's Sala Rossa, which attracted well over 100 people at $10 a crack, that will change.

I was (as you can induce) at that lively event. The music -- all local musicians -- was extraordinary. One up-and coming group that took my fancy was Sweet Mother Logic, an instrumental ensemble that blends classical stains of two cellos with pop/rock drumming , organ and synth, acoustic bass, jazzy electric guitar, and in this concert, guest artists playing assorted clarinets, sax, & trumpet. I bought their EP. It hasn't left my CD player since. Have a listen.

Playing Fast and Loose With Rules

My review of Jailbreaks: 99 Canadian Sonnets is up at The Rover.